“Stop!” he replied. “This is nonsense. D—d nonsense!” he continued angrily, “I’ll not allow you to resign. Take up your sword, Major Craven, or by G—d, I’ll put you under arrest!”
“You can do that, my lord,” I said, “if you please. I, for my part believe that I am only doing what honor requires of me.” And I turned on my heel, and, though he called me back, I went straight out of the room leaving my sword on the table. I believe the act was irregular, but it was the only way in which I could bear witness to the strength of my feelings.
I had taken in doing this what many would consider a foolish step; but I knew, too, that nothing short of this would acquit me in my own mind; and as I left the house I was at no pains to defend the step to myself. Haldane and the others, who were sitting under the trees before the door, looked at me as I came out, but taking the hint from my face, they let me pass without speech. Haldane went in immediately, and thinking that he might be ordered to carry out the Chief’s threat, I moved away down the street. Not that I cared whether I were placed under arrest or no; I was indifferent. But to remain before the house might be taken for a flouting of authority not in the best taste and beyond what I intended.
I had tried all that I could, and I had failed. There remained only one thing which I could do for Wilmer. I must see him. He might have something to say, some message to leave, some service I could perform at the last. I looked along the village street with its thronged roadway and its neat white houses peeping through foliage that blew to and fro tempestuously. The dust flew, and the flag above Headquarters leapt against its staff, for the morning though it was not cold was windy and overcast. As I looked down the road my eyes stopped at the tavern where Webster had his billet. It was nearly—not quite—opposite the house in which I knew that Wilmer was confined; and as I gazed, thinking somberly of the man whose fate had become bound up with mine, and whose last hours were passing so quickly, I saw a negro, bearing something covered with a cloth, go across the road from the tavern to the house. I guessed that he was taking Wilmer’s meal to him and I turned the other way. A later hour would suit my purpose better. We, English, whatever our faults may be, bear little rancor, and I had no doubt that even if I were put under arrest, I should be allowed to see the prisoner.
I passed idly along the street in the direction of Paton’s quarters. On either hand were loungers perched on the garden fences or leaning against them. The roadway was crowded with forage wagons driven by negro teamsters, with carts from the country laden with fruit and vegetables, with fatigue-parties passing at the double. Troopers rode by me in the green of the Legion or the blue of the Dragoons and everywhere were watchful natives and grinning blacks and women in sun-bonnets whose eyes little escaped. But my thoughts were elsewhere and my eyes roved over the scene and saw nothing, until my feet had borne me a good part of the way to Paton’s.
Then I saw her.
She and a negro were standing beside two horses from which they had just dismounted. A little circle of loiterers and busybodies had gathered round them and were eyeing them curiously and questioning them. The horses, jaded and over-ridden, hung their heads, and blew out their nostrils. The black, scared by his surroundings, glanced fearfully hither and thither—it was clear that he felt himself to be in the enemy’s camp. But Constantia showed no sign of fear, or of anything but fatigue. Her eyes travelled gravely round the circle, questioned, challenged, met admiration with pride. And yet—and yet, along with the grief and despair that reigned in her breast—that must have reigned there!—there must have lurked, also, some seed of woman’s weakness; for as her eyes, in leaping a gap in the circle, met mine and held them—and held them, so that for a moment I ceased to breathe—I felt her whole soul travel to me in appeal.
One thing was clear to me at once: that as yet she did not know the part I had played. For had she known it, her eyes instead of meeting mine would have shunned me, as if I had been the plague.
And that gave me courage. Heedless for the moment of what might ensue, or of what she must eventually learn, I pushed my way through the men, I uncovered, I reached her side. Then, on a nearer view, I saw the change that sorrow and fatigue had wrought in her. She was white as paper, and against the white her hair hung in black clinging masses on her cheeks. Her eyes shone out of dark circles, and her homespun habit was splashed with the mud of many leagues. With all this, I was able to address her, encouraged by her look, as simply as if I had parted from her an hour before—as if I had expected her and knew her plans. “My quarters are near here,” I said. “I will take you to them,” I added. That was all.
“Tell him,” she answered, with a glance at her attendant. She spoke as if, with all her courage, she had hardly strength to utter the words.